I've been sick for the past, oh, week. It's what happens when you're in contact with people on a daily basis and they're breathing the same air you are. A Russian Roulette of germs or something; really, it's just bound to happen.
I didn't really mind being sick; I had a runny nose and sore throat and not much energy, and that was about it. No big deal. The problem for me was the fact that my brain was also not functioning all that well so that, even though I had ideas I wanted to get down on paper (er, computer screen) they were not coming out. And anything I did write sounded pretty lame. Either because it was lame, or just because I was so sick my brain couldn't distinguish a good word or sentence from a peanut. I'd be just fine with having a cold if only it wouldn't melt my brain into a useless fondue of blahs.
So I spent three or four days pretending I didn't really want to do any writing and thought maybe I'd do some editing to get some more stuff sent off. No luck. Editing with a melted brain is as effective as writing algebra problems with a pencil in your mouth while hanging upside down. Flat-out arduous.
Perhaps you can see I'm a little bitter with those germs.
So I surrendered that idea and just read some books and watched some movies and listened to some music. And laid flat on the couch so my cat could use me as a cushion and I could use her as a hot-water bottle. It worked out in everyone's favor.
**In times of ailment this fuzzy little beast can be used--quite happily--as a piece of thermoregulatory equipment**
I'm better now. Pretty much. I think. Sheesh, I hope. My cat is wondering what happened to our beautiful arrangement of her getting to sleep on my face.
At least not everything I'm working on at the moment seems totally lame.
Then again, that could be the germs talking ...